Torem al’Tyria sat silently in his tent, poring through the multitude array of maps and reports that littered his desk. The heat of the day soaked through the canvas of his command tent, spilling sweat from his brow, and causing him to loosen his tunic. Light, but he hated days like this. These were the days that were the worst, and when discipline would be the worst. Heat woud run rampant through the camp, filling heads with grand thoughts of idle glory, and making fair heads heated in temper. It was a day in which men could not rouse the energy to work, nor the energy to drill, and so the day would be wasted with idle lounging and the occassional fight when tempers baked in the heat.

It had been like this for far too long. During the height of summer, it had never been this warm; it should not be this way so close to the coming of autumn. And yet it was, and his men were suffering for it.

He paused in his recountings and took another look at the map laid out before him, held at the four corners by stones of various size. It showed precisely his location and the location of the raiders. He ran a finger along the ridgeline that separated them, and then down the river that blocked their way behind them. Two more units were marked with yellow pins, one behind and the other to the right, blocking the river route. A single pass ran between two mountains on the map, illustrated with colors both vibrant and strangely muted. His camp was here...

He frowned as he looked over the map. Something poked at the back of his mind as he regarded the map, staring intently at the squiggling lines and the markings that woud indicate tree line or creek. It was an odd position the raiders had placed themselves in, hiding behind the wall of the mountains and blocked by the river on one side, with only a tight pass to give them an escape route.

He stood and paced, his eye ever on the map laid out on the desk. Something was not right. He could feel it, gnawing at his mind as a dog gnaws a bone. Yet it would not come to him. It would not reveal itself and be shown in the light of day. It lurked in the night, scurrying through the darkest shadows in the farthest corners of his mind. It was also so frustrating!

With pent frustration boiling in him, heated and tempered by the rage of the sun’s heat, he slammed a fist into the desk, scattering papers. Maps rolled and bound with leather fell to the ground, and rolled a bit, as Torem once again began pacing, “Light blind them all! Why won’t they show themselves? At least then I might have some sort of recourse.”

“Mayhaps you should ask them politely,” a teasing voice said softly from a corner of his tent.

Torem turned in surprise, but the rage and frustration he had felt previously melted away, “Jardine...”

She crossed the distance that separated them quickly, two quick strides placing her in his waiting arms. “I missed you, Torem,” she stated as she buried her lips to his.

“And I you,” he replied once he had broken the kiss. “You have been gone too long, my lovely Jardine, I miss you and it does me no good not to have you with me.”

The woman looked up from his embrace, hugging him close as her eyes met his, “It does me no good either.”

Torem fingered the scar that ran the length of her jawline with a light thumb, stroking the smoothness of her face with fingers light as a feather touch, “It is good to have you back.”

“It is good to be back.” Words dissolved into kissing, and kissing led to the bed. It had been far too long...

**************************************************************************************

Torem pulled himself from Jardine’s arms quietly, struggling not to wake her. The cold of the night had fallen finally, giving relief to the heat of the day, and once again stillness covered the camp. He lifted her arms softly and gently, depositing them to her side with the utmost of caution, smiling as he did so at her sleeping form. She slept firmly, with the faintest of smiles curving her lips, a shadowy gray in the darkness. They would have been carmine in the light of day, he though as he lowered himself to kiss her.

She stirred from his sleep as his lips touched her cheek, but she did not wake, and the shallow moan turned back with a deep sigh to the steady inhalations of sleep. He didn’t want to leave her side, and stood motionless for minutes, staring with loving eyes at her sleeping form. She was all the more peaceful in her sleep, graced with quiet stillness; the deepest of serenity. In her arms she held joy and hope; the fullest of contentments. His eyes roaved her body, the twisting of sheets giving half glimpses about her body, and he ached all the more just to lay at her side, alone in her love...

The concavity of her belly curved from the pearly touch of moonlight before meeting with the gentle rise of hips and the graceful slope of thigh. The gentle light of the moon rested lightly across the firm musculature of her thigh, bathing it in a frostlike glow, before the silk of sheets once again covered her. She was lovely, and beautiful, and gorgeous and every other word he knew that could only hint of her wonderfulness.

She whispered his name in the night, the breathy cry of one lover to another, and he quieted her softly. A hand rested upon her brow as he stroked luscious hair. “I will never leave you, Jardine...know that always, I will love you.”

With a final kiss, light and airy, he left her side, glancing with painful want at her sleeping form.

Outside, in the cold of the night, he pulled on his clothes. As he struggled to fit an arm through his shirt, a man walked up quietly. Bathed in the glow of moonlight, he appeared taller than he was, and stronger, and more powerful; as he approached, though, all those miscomceptions were laid to rest, as the unnaturally high voice confirmed.

“Lieutenant-General?”

“It is I, Simon, what have you to report?”

The small man with such a high voice replied, nasly as he sniffed loudly, “The scouts have returned and-”

“Be quiet, man, before you wake Jardine. I have no intention of waking her this late, or disturbing her sleep. She has had a wearying day. Show some consideration.” He turned and walked away from the tent, motioning the painfully obsequious man to follow. “Now, continue,” he commanded once they were far from the tent.

“The scouts have returned and bring an estimate of the raiders numbers...sir?”

Torem caught himself staring at the tent up the hill, where his love lay alone. He ached to return to her, but forced himself to concentrate, “I am sorry, Simon, my mind is wandering of late. Please continue.”

Simon glanced up at the tent that had held his Lieutenant-General’s attention so well, and continued, wisely deciding to ignore his commanders lack of concentration, “As I was saying. The scouts can only account for one-third of the raiders estimated numbers. A large camp lays near the northern end of the valley, with nearly two hundred, but they cannot find the rest of the raiders. They suspect that...”

Torem kept his eyes on the man, and nodded his head when he thought it necessary, but other than that, his mind was away from the report. All he could think about was the woman lying in his bed, sleeping without care. He loved her. He recognized that and freely admitted it to any that asked. He ached with longing each time he was away from her, and nearly ran screaming her name to join in her arms each time he saw her. There was no time when he could be sitting at his desk and not have her name come to mind. Whenever she was in the same room, his concentration slipped; he could think of nothing else.

There had been rumors, he knew, of his marriage to her, and the time and place. He had even heard that the Queen had made note of that rumor, and had asked about its validity. He waited only to be sure himself and he would rejoice at telling her.

Love is grand, he thought as he nodded once more, and Jardine all the grander.

**************************************************************************************

Morning dawned and the sun came all the hotter, warmer even than the day before. Even before the sun had reached halfway in the sky, it was stifling hot, and sweat and tempers abounded all the more. Officers were starting fights with one another, and enlisted men were quarrelling without cessation. The strict discipling of the previous day was slowly melting in the heat, as snow in the melt.

He kept his calm all day, working over maps and planning for the coming attack. Men came and went, delivering reports, obeying commands to attend him, and various other tasks that need perfroming. Some were officers, bearing the bright plummage of Coremanda lance or the gray uniform of Coremanda shield or the red helmet of Coremanda sword. At one time, a man had come from Hai Caemlyn with a report from the Queen herself, but it had turned out to be little more than an inviation to a royal ball to be held soon.

“Do you really want to go?” Jardine asked as she gently kneaded his weary shoulders. Knots unbound themselves in his neck, and aching bones stopped their complaint under her warm ministrations.

“Do you wish to attend?” he asked in responce.

She dropped her head to her shoulder as warm hands wrapped around his chest. Hair that smelled of strawberries and glowed in the diffused light of the day fell near his face, and he into its scent. “No. I don’t anyone to see me there. They are all such beautiful people and I am...I have this.” She rubbed the scar on her face as a single tear fell from her eye.

“Stop that! Don’t ever say that again!” He stood quickly and took her into his arms, enfolding her in his steady embrace. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world. I love you. Don’t ever think otherwise.” He kissed her. A soft pressing of lips to lips, warming her and chasing away all previous thoughts.

“I love you, Torem.”

“As do I, Jardine.”

**************************************************************************************

Torem walked away from the tent, his heart crying out from his chest as he watched Jardine ride off into the hills. With each passing step the horse took, another part of his heart was ripped anew, and pain spilled freely. He could not bear to see her leave, even knowing that soon she would return.

“I hate this, Simon.”

“I know, Lieutenant-General. But she will be back soon, and her scouting is better than any of the men...we need the reports, Lieutenant-General. If we do not know where the raiders are camping, how can we attack?”

Torem sighed in resignation, “I know, Simon...Come, we must prepare.”

**************************************************************************************

Torem sat alone on his horse, regarding the orderly lines of men that were spread out beneath him. Finally, the heat had let up, and his men were under proper discipline again. He could not really fault them, he knew his temper to have flared in those hot days. Those days had finally ended though, and the cool of autumn had settled firmly into place the night before. He hoped Jardine had found a warm place to sleep.

Thinking about Jardine brought a twist to his heart, and he pushed it gently aside, concentrating on the lines of his men. They were arrayed in neat order, the lances at the perimeter, swords and shields at ready, spread throughout, while mounted roamed the hills in small bunches. Archers were intersperced throughout all the men, five or so surrounded by a wall of lances and men with swords, the shields standing at guard about each.

Tonight would be the night, he assured himself, as soon as Jardine returned and delivered her report...they would attack. The thought of Jardine was like a spear of longing through his heart, piercing deeply into his chest. Thoughts of her filled his mind, and suddenly he could smell the strawberry of her hair all about him. Her eyes filled his, and he looked deeply into their cool orbs.

“Lieutenant...”

“Yes, Lieutenant-General?”

Torem turned to look at the man mounted next to him. The roan was standing still on the hill top, regarding the plains below with impassive eyes. The man mounted atop was much the same, with the same impassive eyes staring into the field. The plummage that marked him a lance captain thrust up and above his helmet, an impressive display, worthy of any lance captain.

“Signal the men to break formation and begin the march.”

“Yes, Lieutenant-General.” The lance captain took up a fan from the soldier at his side and waved it about, snapping it quickly at the end. The formation below suddenly broke, shields taking up postion on the perimeter of the collumn, while lances formed a thick wall about swords and archers. Marching forward, with lances held high, the collumn resembled a porcupine, ready for any attack.

“And the reports are all the same?”

“Yes, Lieutenant-General. The reports and the scouts all say that the raiders have grouped together again, and are camping about a mile from the river.”

Torem thought back to his maps and the long discussion he had had the previous days with Jardine. Something did not add up, and something was missing. The nagging feeling that had been haunting him for days returned. It flittered about his mind, taunting him with merciless delight.

“Something is not right, Lieutenant Something feels wrong. It feels like an ambush.”

“An ambush, sir?”

Torem was silent as he thought. Yes, it all made sense now, “Yes, Captain, don’t you see? Look at the terrain, the way the mountains make us march through a single pass. The raiders are camping at the other side, but they hold the valley and the forest about the pass. It is the perfect place for an attack. Ah...they almost outsmarted me, Lieutenant Grighd, but don’t worry, on the morrow, I’ll show them.”

“As you say, Lieutenant-General.”

**************************************************************************************

Torem was exuberant that night, as he bustled about his tent, scurrying with energetic purpose. Maps came out, and reports stacked into his travel desk. Things were going so well. The raiders would be surprised...surprise kills.

He laughed quietly to himself, thinking about his victory. If only Jardine would be there to join in with him.

The energy died from his step as once again he thought of Jardine. It would not be the same without her at his side. She would not be able to witness and stand with him as he gave the order to crush the raiders, and he grieved that he would not be able to be with her. More than anything else...he wanted her at his side; just to be there, where he could be in her presence, nothing more.

He prayed that she was not out in the cold. He cursed himself, I never should have let her go. I don’t need her out there! Light blind me for a fool, I don’t need to be endangering her like this. Blind me to the Shadow, I don’t need her to be put into danger!

He stopped and sat on the bed, tears whelling in his eyes. He shouldn’t have sent her out. If anything happened to her...he didn’t know what he would do...

Banishing that thought from his mind, he rose and stood, making his way to the desk, where the map was laid out. Here...and here...that’s where they would attack from, and that was where he would have his own ambush set up. Things were going well...

“Lieutenant-General?” a young soldier was standing outside the tent, holding the flap aside with deferent hands. A look of fearful trepidation covered his face.

Torem looked up at the interruption and bade the young man...boy really...to enter. “What is it?”

“This just came for you, sir. The scout that brought it up was bleeding bad, sir. He wanted to give it to you himself, but he died before he could make it up the hill. I brought it as fast as I could.”

“What?! Let me have that!” He practically snatched the message from the soldiers hands and tore open the seal. Portentious doom loomed suddenly over the tent, as he ripped the wax seal open. Some sort of Omen had come with the announcement of the scout’s death.

He read the message quickly, his face falling with each line that passed. Blood rushed from his face, turning it to a sickly white, devoid of life. His eyes continued to scan the message, growing wet as they passed.

“Lieutenant-General?”

Torem gasped with an anguished sob as he finished, dropping the message to the ground, his legs suddenly without strength enough to hold him. He dropped after the message, crashing to the floor when the table to reached for overturned. Sobs wracked his body, tears streaming from his face as horror swept over his face.

“Go! Leave me! Now!”

The pain and the grief that billowed through the tent made the young soldier leave quickly, fleeing into the night.

**************************************************************************************

“I...loved her...with all my heart.” Drink made his words slur, drawing them out until they were almost impossible to comprehend. “I loved her. And we...we...were going to get married. Even...even the...queen knew about it.”

Torem rested his head on the table, his hands curled around a mug of wine. The man that sat next to him nodded slowly, listening quietly as Torem grew drunker and drunker. “I was...going...to marry her...as soon as the raiders...were dealt with. I was going...to kill...them all...and then we would...be married.” A drunken smile escaped his lips as he brought his wine again to his mouth.

A serving maid came up to the table to refill the mug and leaned over to the other man, “Is he all right?”

“He is fine. He lost a loved one today...”

“Oh...I’m sorry. He’s already had ten mugs though, how much more can he take?”

“As much as necessary.”

The serving maid nodded and refilled the mug from her pitcher, “I think I understand...” she replied softly as she took the copper from the other man’s hand.

“Damn it all!” Torem suddenly shouted, rising from his chiar, swaying in drunken stupor, “We were to be married!”

The other man leapt up, grabbing at Torem and pulling him back to his seat, “Quiet, sir...we don’t want to make a scene for the men to hear about in the morning.”

“I don’t care, Donovyn. She’s dead. I killed her.”

“You didn’t kill her, sir.”

Torem shook his head and took a long swallow, finishing with a soft sigh, “I sent her out there...out alone in the face of the enemy.”

“She’s the best we have, sir. The best. You did what you though necessary.”

Torem looked into the mug and stared at the swirling images it carried. Love, that he would never feel again. Grief...pain...sadness...and the heartbreaking though of living without his true love. “I sent her out, and she died.”

Silence reigned about the two men, as they sat. One in druken stupor, the other in silent commiseration.

For about ten minutes it was silent, not even the sounds of other men talking to fill the room. It was as if they all sensed the pain that radiated from Torem, and understood it, and grieved with him. The cook came out from her kitchen to have a look at Torem from across the room, but with a word from the serving maid, turned aside to return to her duties. She had seen enough grieving men, enough to know to leave them be for the first couple of hours...until they were drunk enough to take home.

It was at that time that the door to the tavern opened, and the cold air of the night filled the room, temporarily banning the warmth of the fire. A man walked into the room slowly, looking about with trepidation. When he saw Torem and Donovyn sitting at the table, he cautiously made his way to them.

“Sir?” He asked as soon as he was at the table. He removed his helmet from his heat, and placed it under an arm. After reaching behind him and taking hold of a sealed tube, he presented it to Lieutenant Grighd, “This came but a few minutes ago. It bears the Queens name and seal.”

“I see that, soldier, I’m not blind.” Grighd sighed and relented, “I’m sorry, soldier, but this isn’t a good time.”

“I apologize, Lieutenant, but I had orders to give it directly to the Lieutenant-General. I am not to leave until he reads it. Those from the Queen herself.”

“Very well, Torem...read this.”

Torem took the sealed tube and quickly broke the seal, his inebriated mind having a difficult time withdrawing the rolled paper inside though. Finally, though, he removed it and read it.

“We’re to attack the raiders within the hour that I have read this.” He sighed drunkenly, “I can’t even grieve properly...” he muttered.

“Lieutenant-General, you aren’t in any sort of condition to mount an attack tonight. Put someone else in charge.”

“I cannot, Lieutenant Grighd. This is too important to leave to someone else.” The drukenness left his voice, but stayed with his walk, carrying him in a drunken lilt to the door. “Get your ass moving, Grighd, we have a battle to fight.”

“Yes, Lieutenant-General.”

The night was cool, but it didn’t take them long to return to the camp, “Mount up, soldiers!” Torem called to his men, sounding sober. Donovyn cast him suspicious glances every so often, regarding him with a colorless gaze in the darkness of the night.

“Lieutenant-General, you don’t understand, you are making a terrible mistake. You cannot lead an army filled with drink!”

“You are out of order, Lieutenant. Guards, take him, and hold him to the camp until I have time to deal with him.”

Two guards stepped forward, baring reluctant steel. They flanked Lt. Grighd and took and arm each, attempting to lead him back to the camp below. “You are making a mistake, Lieutenant-General! Listen to me! Only a darkfriend woud be this foolish, you have to listen-!”

“What did you say?” Threat was heavy in his voice, and even before Grighd could answer, the sound of steel clearing a scabbard filled the air. “Are you calling me a darkfriend?”

Grighd looked about horrified, “No! I-”

“Guards, release him! You would challenge me, Grighd?” There was danger in the whispered question; threat and implied violence, “You would call me a darkfriend in front of my command. Defend yourself, I am no darkfriend! Prepare to die!”

The guards released him hurriedly, for just as they cleared him, Torem was atop Grighd, their swords clashing in the night air. Steel met steel in flashes of brilliant light, illuminated by the light of the moon. Sweat popped from Donovyn Grighd’s face, and his ragged breaths filled the air. He was lance, and not used to having to wield a sword. Torem was sword before rising to Lieutenant-General and well acquainted with its many nuances. The fight was unfair to begin with, Torem was by far the better fighter and Donovyn knew it well.

It was over quickly, and ended in a spurt of blood. Donovyn fell in agony to the ground, the protruding steel wedged in his ribs. Shock and horror spread across his face as he fell, blood pouring from his dying body in gallons and drums. Paleness crept across his face, and slowly, he died.

Sniffing, Torem reached down and grabbed hold of the sword sticking form Donovyn’s lifeless chest. Taking hold of it, he tried to pull it from the corpse. It caught on something though, and broke off near the grip, leaving most of the steel protruding from the man’s body. Without thought, Torem dropped the broken sword and took a hold of the dead man’s.

“You dare challenge me? This shall be your reward...tonight I carry your sword, and will slay none with it!”

**************************************************************************************

Torem looked out at the snow of the mountain and thought back to those days, and sighed. His love...dead. His command...dead. Caught in the same ambush he hoped to avoid. His life...ended with the death of his love...or perhaps when the report of his slaying another officer reached the Queen. Or maybe it was the report of his leading an entire legion to death in the mountains. Either way, it ended that night.

He struggled up the mountain slopes, the cold biting into him and harrying him with each trudging step. It had been told him that shame of this type, and a dishonor of this magnitude could only be met in death...but must be a noble death. Only a noble death could assuage his memory, and clear the memory of his name. It would be spoken of him that he was a darkfriend, and he would need something to halt that story.

He must kill Trollocs, must fight the Shadow...must hunt the Dark One.

And that could only be found in the Blight. Only be found at the slopes of Shayul Ghul. Only then, when he died on those slopes, killing and slaughtering hordes of Shadow-spawned minions, would the stories of his dishonor fade away. But until then...

He continued on...into the night and into the cold, before the haunting call suddenly whelled up around him. He looked around...just in time to see the Dragkhar descend.

**************************************************************************************

Where am I... he thought as he awoke in the snow, twisted and cold and stiff. Pain wracked through is body, tearing at every muscle and every bone, ripping through his mind in horrible agony. What am I doing here? He tried to stand, but found a body lying atop his own. Strangely numb, he pushed the body aside, dropping it into the soft reaches of fresh snow. Who am I... he stood and found that he could not recall his name. Frantic, he struggled for memory, knowing it shoud be there, but finding only an empty hole.

Something should be there, that he knew, but what? Blindly, he scrambled and reached through his mind, searching for some sort of memory. What was he doing here, who was this man...what is my name?!

Donovyn Grighd? The scabbard held a name...a strange name...yet somehow...it felt good to his tongue...

“My name is Donovyn Grighd.”

The Beginning